


Never Grow Up

by MsWikit



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Childhood, Drabbles, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsWikit/pseuds/MsWikit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles about DA2 characters in their childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Grow Up

Father sits down beside her bed, as he does every night, a book in his hands. Marian wiggles down in between the blankets and waits eagerly for him to begin reading. He smiles and presses his fingers together, preparing to light the candle that sits beside her bed.

“No!” Marian says suddenly. She sits up. “I wanna try!”

Father pauses. Then he smiles. “You’re not a mage, marigold, I don’t think it’ll work-”

She snaps her fingers. The candle flares to life, illuminating the room. A delighted smile passes across her face. Father and daughter sit there for a time, watching their shadows dance on the wall. In the next room they can hear Leandra cleaning up the kitchen. For Marian, it’s a moment of pure bliss. She can do magic, just like her papa. She does not notice the way her father’s shoulders sag, or the way his voice cracks when he starts to read to her. 

They move again the next day, and Marian is never told why. 

*

“Tag!” Varania yells, bumping Leto’s shoulder so hard he stumbles and almost falls. He recovers quickly, however, and races after her. Their mother glances over. She’s busy tending to their master’s gardens with several of the other slaves. 

“Be careful!” she calls to them.

Leto ignores her, laughing as he races after Varania. She turns around a corner, dashing towards the gardens. He follows her – and runs right into his master. Leto falls on to his back with a soft ‘oof’ and is stunned for a moment. When he sits up, he recognizes just what he’s done. Immediately he gets to his feet and bows. 

“I’m sorry Master,” he says, his voice quivering.

Danarius raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. He walks past, not even deigning to acknowledge him. Leto lets out a breath. Varania hurries over and grabs his arm. The two go back to their mother, and play under watchful eye for the rest of the afternoon.

*

As Arlathvhen comes to a close, Merrill is led to her new clan. The Keeper walks slowly and calmly, her hands clasped together. She tries to mimic her graceful stride; if she is to be her First, she’ll have to learn everything after all!

Marethari looks down at her and chuckles. “What are you doing, Merrill?”

“Walking like you!” she says, her face a picture of concentration.

The Keeper chuckles again. They enter Sabrae clan’s camp. Everyone is in the midst of packing up to leave. Aravels are being loaded and halla stamp their feet eagerly. Marethari leads her over to the clan’s other children. They’re sitting quietly, patiently waiting to climb into the aravels with their parents and be off. 

When they see Merrill, they stare at her. She looks down, unable to meet their questioning looks. 

“Children, this is Merrill,” Marethari says gently. “She is to be my First, and is part of our clan now. I hope you will welcome her warmly.”

With that she walks off, leaving the children of the clan to inspect their new sister. None of them say anything for a time. Then, finally, a girl around Merrill’s age steps forward. She’s got hair black as a raven’s wing and big green eyes. She has a crown of flowers on her head. No doubt she made it herself; it's a common craft among Dalish children.

The girl takes off her flower crown and offers it to Merrill. “Aneth ara, lethallan. I’m Devenaya. But everyone calls me Mahariel.”

Merrill smiles and puts the flower crown on her head. Mahariel takes her hand and pulls her towards the other children. She introduces them all – Tamlen, Fenarel, Junar, Liawen, and Melani – and Merrill begins to think this new clan may not be so bad after all. 

*

“And then they lived happily ever after,” his mother says, closing the book with a satisfied smile.

Her youngest son sits on the floor with an irritated look on his face. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she says.

“That was so boring!” Varric protests. “There weren’t any sword fights or dragons or griffons or ogres! Just rescuing some human princess from a tower. What’s so interesting about that? If they wanted to make it really interesting…oh, what if the princess was actually a maleficar in disguise!”

“Varric-”

“Who uses her blood magic to trick poor knights into saving her-”

“ _Varric_ -”

“But the hero is a knight and a Templar, and he’s immune to her-”

“Ok, time for bed,” his mother says, standing up and sighing. “Come on, let’s go.”

Varric groans. “Bartrand gets to stay up late!”

“That’s because Bartrand is older, and he’s helping your father with something,” his mother says. She takes his hand and leads him off to the bedroom he shares with his elder brother. “Now go to sleep. And no more wild stories! I don’t like hearing you talk like that.”

He grumbles as he walks into his room. “I’ll find someone else who likes it, then.”

*

The barn burns, and all he can do is stand there and stare at it.

The flame had come from him. From – from his _hands_. He looks down at them. They’re shaking. His whole body is shaking. He’s gone to the Chantry with his parents, they go every Sunday to listen to the Revered Mother speak. He knows all about mages. He knows all about them, and what happens to children that accidentally burn down barns using only their hands.

“Lucan!” his mother hurries towards him. He turns around, rushes to her, but his father stands in between them.

“Go back to the house, Megan,” Father says. 

Mother looks at him, her eyes full of tears. “We’ll- we’ll say one of those horses kicked over a lantern! We’ll say it was an accident. He can hide it- can’t you Lucan? He’s a good boy, Braedon, he’d never- he isn’t-”

“Back to the house,” his father says again, sterner this time. 

She sobs and does as she’s told. The door closes behind her.

“You- you sit right there. You sit right there and don’t move,” Father says. His voice is shaking. There's...there's _fear_ in his eyes. 

Lucan obeys. He’s still trembling. “You’re…you’re going to send me away aren’t you?”

Father doesn’t answer.

*

“Ho there strangers!” 

The whole family turns around, and Bethany freezes. Templars, coming up the road behind them. They seem friendly enough. But she knows better than to trust them. Marian grabs her hand – comforting and gentle as always – and the two of them look at Carver. He’s clutching the wooden sword at his hip as though he can beat them off with that alone.

Father stops the wagon and climbs down. He smiles. How can he always be so calm? “Greetings.”

“Where are you off to?” one of the knights asked, gesturing to the wagon full of supplies. They carried all they could with them. 

“Highever,” Father lies easily. “We had a farm, but damn pests killed all the crops. Had to sell the land. My wife’s got a cousin up in Highever who can fix me up with work, so we’re going there.”

The Templar nods and glances at the wagon. His eyes fall on the children. Bethany squeezes Marian’s hand, hard. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. Don’t let them know. Keep it in. She feels an unwilling prickle of cold from her fingertips. Marian clasps both hands over hers.

“Keep calm,” she whispers in her ear. 

“We’ve got word of a group of apostates in the area,” the Templar says. “Someone was saying a young girl froze a farmer’s boots to the ground. Have you heard anything about that?”

Father scratches his beard contemplatively. “Can’t say that I have.”

Oh Maker. Oh, Maker, please don’t let them take her. She tries her best to keep her face calm. Why couldn’t she be normal, like Carver or Mother? Why did she and Marian have to be born with magic? Bethany squeezes her eyes shut, praying hard.

“…very well. Carry on then. And good luck to you, serah,” the Templar says. 

Father climbs back into the wagon, and they are off again. 

“Breathe, Bethany, it’s alright,” Marian says. She still hasn't let go of her hands. The outside of her gloves are coated with a thin layer of frost.

She shakes her head. It’ll never be alright. So long as she has this magic, this curse, it won’t be ok.

*

“Like that- yes, good,” Father says, crossing his arms over his chest. Carver walks up beside him. His sisters are practicing their magic, making a camp fire grow weaker and stronger at their father’s command. It’s more of an exercise for Bethany than it is for Marian. She’s had her magic since she was five years old. Bethany only just discovered it. “Marigold, don’t help her- she has to do it herself.”

Marian steps back, and it is obvious Bethany is struggling on her own.

“Father, when you’re done,” Carver says, hesitant, “do you think we could practice with the swords again?”

“Hm? Yes, yes of course Carver,” Father says absent-mindedly. “Later. I need to work with your sisters.”

Carver frowns. “Well…when you will you finish?”

“I don’t know, Carver,” Father says. Suddenly Bethany loses control and the fire flares up to taller than she is. “Bethany!”

Marian leaps in, bringing it back down again.

Their father sighs, rubbing his temple. “I’m sorry, what were you saying Carver?”

He feels as though someone has just dropped a sack of grain on his back. Once again, he’s been passed up in favor of his sisters. Some days he wishes he’d been born with magic, too. Maybe then he could finally get some attention around here. “Nothing, Father.”

*

“The Qun dictates-”

“I don’t care,” Naishe says harshly. Her mother frowns at her. She frowns back. 

“The Qun dictates women are not meant to fight, Naishe,” her mother says, pulling the daggers away from her and setting them back on the vendor’s cart. “We are the mind; the merchants, the farmers, the priests-”

And there she goes again. Naishe rolls her eyes and looks back towards the daggers. They’re beautiful blades, made of veridium with an embellished gold pommel. She has to have them. Even if it means coming back here alone to steal them. Her mother grabs her arm and squeezes it tightly – painfully so – and drags her away.

“You will come with me tonight,” her mother says. “You will learn the way of the Qun, and you’ll see it’s preferable to…this.”

“I don’t want to be told what to do for the rest of my life!” Naishe protests. 

“You will find purpose,” her mother says. 

Naishe looks away, glaring at nothing in particular. One day she’ll- she’ll- she’ll run away, that’s what she’ll do! She’ll go down to the docks, maybe, and hideaway on a ship. So long as it was going away from Rivain, she wouldn’t care where she ended up. 

A man stops them. A noble, from what she can tell. 

“Ma’am, is this your daughter?” he asks, gesturing to Naishe.

Her mouth’s lips tighten. “She is.”

Unfortunately, Naishe adds silently.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. “I have to have her.”

Her mother looks at her. Naishe frowns back at her. She thinks: _Don't you dare_. 

“How much?” her mother asks.

He hands her some coins – Naishe doesn’t see how much. She feels like she just got hit in the head. Is her mother really going to sell her? Just because she won’t convert? Just because- just because she can? 

“Is this all?” her mother asks.

The man pauses. “Perhaps a goat as well?”

“Mother, you can’t be serious!” Naishe cries.

“Deal,” her mother says, coldly.

The man – she’ll later learn his name is Luis – grins and takes her hand. Naishe wonders if she should try and break it and run. But what’s the point? A tear starts rolling down her face, and she wipes at it hurriedly. Good riddance, she tells herself. 

Good riddance.

**Author's Note:**

> Ages are about:  
> Hawke - 5  
> Fenris - 6 or 7  
> Merrill - 8  
> Varric - 8 or 9  
> Anders - 12  
> Bethany and Carver - 13  
> Isabela - 14


End file.
